


Equality

by kimberquel (kimberly_a)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberly_a/pseuds/kimberquel
Summary: Quentin doesn’t think he’s good enough for Eliot





	Equality

**Author's Note:**

> I’m right in the middle of writing a fic for another fandom, and then I had a medical procedure yesterday & while I was recovering from the anesthesia, I came up with this little story. So blame it all on the anesthesiologist.

“Jules, I don’t think I can do it.” Quentin put his head in his hands, his hair falling forward in a curtain to hide his face.

Julia put her hand on the middle of his back, rubbing soothing circles as she’d done since they were teenagers whenever Quentin had one of his meltdowns. “Yes, you can, Q. You can do anything.”

“Not this.” He raised his head to look at her, his eyes sad. He felt so disappointed in himself. He was such a failure.

“Yes this,” Julia insisted firmly. “How long have you wanted this?”

“Months?” Quentin answered uncertainly.

“At least six months. But you haven’t done it. Why, Q? What’s holding you back?”

Quentin sighed and lay back on the bed where they were sitting. He stared at the ceiling. “He’s too good for me, Jules. I don’t know why he even gives me a second glance.”

“He loves you, you idiot! Don’t you believe that by now?”

“I guess. But ... this...” He turned his head slightly to look up at her, so she lay back on the bed beside him. “Why would he want to marry me? He could have anybody. Why would he want me?”

Julia gave him a long look. “Do you really think he doesn’t want to marry you? Do you think he would say no?”

Quentin gave a shy shrug. “Um ... I don’t know. I mean, there’s always a chance.”

Julia sat up again and patted him on the shoulder. “I think you need to work up the courage to take that chance, Q.”

* * *

Eliot had arranged one of his elaborate dates again. Every month or so, he would whisk Quentin away to some fancy New York restaurant with a menu Quentin couldn’t even read. He’d choose out some fancy clothes for both of them and dress Quentin up like a paper doll, because he said it made him happy.

Quentin would do anything to make Eliot happy.

* * *

“I’m going to do it this time, Jules,” Quentin said, his mouth set in a firm line of determination. “One of these fancy dates, that would be the perfect time, right? Fancy restaurant, fancy clothes, fancy food ... oh god, that’s not me, is it? I’m not fancy enough.”

Julia laughed at him and rolled her eyes. “If you’re fancy enough for _Eliot Waugh_, then you’re fancy enough for anything.”

Quentin chuckled and said, “You’re probably right about that. He is pretty fancy, isn’t he?”

“_Beyond_ fancy,” Julia agreed with a grin.

“And he chose me.”

Julia nodded firmly. “He chose you. You chose each other. Q, he’s not going to say no.”

“Okay,” Quentin said again. “I’m going to do it this time.”

* * *

Eliot ordered for both of them, because Quentin didn’t know what most of the words on the menu meant. “Should I ask what you ordered for me?”

Eliot smirked. “Probably not. Just eat it and tell me how delicious it is. And I’ve ordered the perfect wine.”

“Of course you have,” Quentin grinned at him. “Don’t you always?”

“You know me so well.”

They ate their meals, and whatever Eliot had ordered for Quentin was, in fact, delicious, even if the entire menu had been completely unpronounceable. They both got a little tipsy on the wine. Eliot hadn’t been drinking much lately, and his tolerance had declined as a result.

Eliot leaned across the table after their plates had been taken away. “This place has a garden on the roof,” he confided. He wasn’t drunk, just a little buzzed enough to look really happy.

Quentin loved it when Eliot looked that happy.

“Want to sneak up there?” Quentin whispered, and Eliot nodded emphatically. They both started giggling.

* * *

The garden was beautiful, with small potted trees and plants of many varieties, the trees strung with tiny twinkling fairy lights. The view of the city was even more beautiful, if that was possible. Rustic wooden benches were scattered among the trees and plants, so Eliot and Quentin found a seat, and Quentin reached out to hold Eliot’s hand. “It’s beautiful up here,” Quentin said, looking around in wonder.

“_You’re_ beautiful up here,” Eliot replied in that suave way he had.

Quentin blushed and looked away. Then he took a big breath in and let it out. No time like the present, right?

“So, um, I had this whole speech planned, and I’ve forgotten the whole thing, because I’m a complete nerd who doesn’t even know how to do something this important right. But I think maybe you love this complete nerd, or that you might at least like him a little.” They both chuckled. “I mean, that’s the impression I’ve gotten.” He squeezed Eliot’s hand, and Eliot squeezed back, gazing into his eyes.

If there was ever a moment, this was definitely it.

Quentin knelt on the smooth path among the trees and looked up at Eliot, and the fairy lights made it look like he had stars in his eyes. Still holding Eliot’s hand, Quentin smiled up at this gorgeous, amazing man who had somehow chosen him, and suddenly Quentin realized that he wanted him to know that he was chosen in return.

“Like I said, I forgot most of the speech, but I do know that I wanted to ask you something important, and it doesn’t matter if I remember what words I was going to say.” He lifted Eliot’s hand to his mouth and softly kissed his fingers. “Will you, Eliot Waugh, promise to hold my hand for the rest of our lives? Will you marry me?”

Eliot pulled on Quentin’s hand so that they were sitting back on the bench together, then pulled him into his arms. “I thought you were never going to ask, you idiot! All these elegant dinners you fucking hate and you made me wait so long!”

”Elegant dinners I hate?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t like this sort of thing, but you’re too much of a romantic to pop the question under less than extremely special circumstances.”

“So the answer is yes?” Quentin asked hesitantly, not really catching on to what Eliot was trying to say because this was all moving too fast.

“Yes, you complete and utter idiot! Of course yes!” Eliot took Quentin’s face in his hands and kissed him with a delicate touch of their lips, like a promise, the promise they’d just made. But then he slid his hand down and around to hold the nape of Quentin’s neck beneath his hair—Eliot’s favorite place to hold Q ... in public, anyway—and pulled him into a more passionate kiss.

Quentin pulled away from the kiss suddenly. “Um ... did you say I made you wait?”

“Seemingly endlessly,” Eliot confirmed.

“But if you knew ... if you knew I wanted ... why didn’t you just do it?” Quentin felt a little betrayed, if the truth be told, that Eliot had put him through this whole painful process when it could have all been settled months ago.

Eliot ran a hand through Quentin’s hair and smiled just the smallest of smiles. “It had to be you, Q. It can’t always be me, leading us around, making all the decisions. I had to let you be ready to work up the courage to ask. To prove to yourself that we’re equals.”

“Equals?” Quentin repeatedly numbly.

“I’ve known it a long time,” Eliot said, “but I needed you to see it, too. I needed you to be ready. I needed you to ask.” He pulled Quentin to his feet and into his arms. “And thank the gods you finally did! I was beginning to lose patience!”

“Did Jules talk to you?” Quentin asked, a suspicion growing.

But Eliot looked genuinely confused. “Julia? No, why?” His smile widened. “Oh, wait, you’ve been talking about this with her, haven’t you?”

Quentin nodded, embarrassed.

“And what did our illustrious Miss Wicker have to say?” Eliot asked with one raised eyebrow.

“I told her I didn’t think I was fancy enough, but she said if I was ‘fancy’ enough for you to love me then I was fancy enough for you to want to marry me.”

The corners of Eliot’s lips turned up. “Wise words. I’ve never loved you because you were ‘fancy,’ Q. I love you because of who you are. I don’t want to turn you into me.”

“You aren’t ashamed of me being such a hopeless nerd?” Quentin asked, beginning to understand what Eliot was saying.

“You may be a hopeless nerd, Quentin Coldwater, but I love you more than a thousand steak tartares or a million embroidered waistcoats.”

Quentin’s blood ran cold. “Wait. Steak tartare? Isn’t that raw meat? Is that what I ate tonight?”

“Delicious, right?” Eliot chuckled.

“Oh my god. You made me eat raw meat,” Quentin moaned.

“Given the solemnity of the occasion,” Eliot said, “I shall refrain from making the obvious innuendoes.”

Quentin smacked him on the shoulder with a laugh. Then abruptly found it all come rushing in. “We’re getting married,” he said in awe. “You want to marry me.”

“I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time,” Eliot said, running a hand through Quentin’s hair again. “I just needed you to catch up and believe it.” And this time it was Quentin who pulled Eliot close and initiated their kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m kimberquel on Tumblr, so come say hi! I’m @letstrytobekind on Twitter, but that’s a multifandom account.


End file.
